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  andsummitsaroundthetown.Intheeveningthewindowsoftheofficers'mess,

  overtheriverandbythebridge,werelightedandwideopenasintheprevious year, only the sound of the piano and the violin no longer came from them.

  ColonelBauersatathistablewithafewofhisseniorofficers,good-humoured,

  smiling and sweating from the effects of the red wine and the heat of the

  summer.

  Theyoungmensatonthe kapia onwarmnightsandsang.Itwasnearlytheend

  ofJuneandthestudentswereshortlyexpectedtoarrive,astheydideveryyear.

  Onsuchnightsonthe kapia itseemedasiftimehadstopped,whilelifeflowed

  onendless,richandeasyandonecouldnotforeseehowlongitwouldcontinue

  thus.

  Atthattimeofthenightthemainstreetswereilluminated,forthetownhadhad

  electric light since spring that year. About a year earlier an electrically driven

  sawmillhadbeenbuiltontheriverbankaboutamilefromthetownandbeside

  it a factory for extracting turpentine from pine refuse; it also produced resin.

  This factory had made an agreement with the municipality to light the town

  streets from its private power station. So the green lamp-standards with their

  petroleum lights disappeared, and with them tall Ferhat who used to clean and

  lightthem.Themainstreetwhichstretchedthewholelengthofthetown,from

  the bridge to the new quarter, was lit by powerful lamps of white milky glass,

  whilethesidestreetswhichbranchedofftorightandleftandmeanderedaround

  Bikavac or climbed upwards to Mejdan and Okolište were lighted by ordinary

  bulbs. Between these lines of similar lights stretched long irregular patches of

  darkness.Thesewerecourtyardsorlargegardensontheslopes.

  In one of these dark gardens Zorka the schoolmistress was sitting with Nikola

  Glasičanin.

  Thedissensionwhichhadarisenbetweenthesetwolastyear,whenStikovićhad

  appeared at the time of the vacation, had lasted for long, right up to the

  beginningofthenewyear.Then,aseverywinter,preparationsfortheFestivalof

  St Sava had been begun in the Srpski Dom. A concert and a play were being

  prepared. Both Zorka and Glasičanin took part and returning home after the

  rehearsalstheyhadspokentogetherforthefirsttimesincetheprevioussummer.

  At first their talks had been short, reserved and distant. But they did not stop

  seeingoneanother,foryoungpeopleprefereventhemostbitterandhopelessof

  lovers' quarrels to the boredom and loneliness of a life without the play and

  thoughtsoflove.Somewhereinthecourseoftheirendlessargumentstheyhad

  made peace, they themselves knew not how or when. Now, on these warm

  summer nights, they met regularly. From time to time the figure of the absent Stikovićrosebetweenthemandthewholepointlessargumentflamedupagain,

  butitdidnotdrivethemapart,whileeveryreconciliationdrewthemcloserand

  closertogether.

  Now they sat in the warm darkness on the stump of an old walnut tree and

  wrapped in their own thoughts looked down at the big and little lights of the

  town along the river which roared monotonously. Glasičanin, who had been

  talkingforalongtime,wasnowsilentforamoment.Zorka,whohadbeensilent

  all evening, remained silent as only women know how when they are

  disentangling their love troubles in their minds, those troubles which are more

  intimateandmoreimportanttothemthananythingelseinlife.

  Aboutthistimelastyear,whenStikovićhadfirstappearedonthescene,Zorka

  had thought that an endless paradise of happiness had opened before her, in

  which perfect affinity of feelings and unity of thought and desires had the

  sweetnessofakissandthedurationofahumanexistence.Butthatillusionhad

  notlastedlong.Howeverinexperiencedandenrapturedshemayhavebeen,she

  couldnotfailtonoticethatthismanquicklytookfirebutequallyquicklyburnt

  out, according to his own ideas, without any consideration for her and without

  any connection with those things which she considered greater and more

  important than either herself or him. He had left her almost without saying

  goodbye.Shehadbeenleftapreytoindecisionfromwhichshesufferedasfrom

  a hidden wound. The letter which had come from him had been perfectly

  phrased, a perfect example of literary skill, but as measured as a counsel's

  opinionandasclearandastransparentasanemptyglassjar.Inithehadspoken

  ofhislove,butasifthepairofthemhadalreadybeenacenturyintheirgraves,

  likepersonsfamousandlongdead.Toherwarmandvividreplycamehiscard:

  'In the tasks and anxieties which harass and annoy me I think of you as of a

  peaceful Višegrad night, filled with the sound of the river and the perfume of

  unseen grasses.' And that was all. In vain she tried to remember when she had

  heard the sound of the river and sensed the perfume of those unseen grasses.

  Theyexistedonlyonhispostcard.Certainlyshedidnotrememberthem,even

  ashe,itseemed,didnotrememberanythingthathadtakenplacebetweenthem.

  Herminddarkenedwiththethoughtthatshehadbeendeceivedandthathehad

  deceivedher,andthenconsoledherselfwithsomethingthatsheherselfdidnot

  understand and which was less likely than a miracle. 'It is not possible to

  understand him,' she thought to herself, 'he is strange and cold, selfish, moody

  andcapricious,butperhapsallexceptionalmenarelikethat.'Inanyeventwhat

  shefeltwasmorelikesufferingthanlove.Herinnerflinchingandthebreakthat shefeltinthedepthsofherbeingmadeitseemtoherthatthewholeburdenof

  that love which he had provoked lay upon her alone, and that he was lost

  somewhere far in the fog and the distance which she dared not call by its real

  name.Forawomaninlove,evenwhenshehaslostallherillusions,cherishes

  her love like a child she has not been destined to bear. She hardened her heart

  and did not reply to his card. But after a silence of two months another card

  arrived. It was written from some high mountain in the Alps: 'At a height of

  2,000metres,surroundedbypeopleofvarioustonguesandnationalities,Ilook

  attheboundlesshorizonandthinkofyouandlastsummer.'Evenforheryears

  andherlittleexperiencethatwasenough.Hadhewritten:'Ididnotloveyou,I

  donotloveyounow,norwillIeverbeabletoloveyou,'itcouldhavebeenno

  clearerormorepainfultoher.Forwhenallwassaidanddone,itwaslovethat

  was in question, not far-off memories or how many metres above sea-level a

  man was writing, nor what people were around him nor what languages they

  spoke.Andtherewasnothingaboutlove!

  Apoorgirlandanorphan,ZorkahadgrownupinVišegradw
ithsomerelations.

  AftershehadfinishedherstudiesattheTeachers'TrainingCollegeatSarajevo,

  shehadbeenpostedtoVišegradandhadreturnedtothehouseofthewell-to-do

  butsimplefolktowhomshefeltinnowayattached.

  Zorka had grown thin and pale and had withdrawn into herself, but she had

  confided in no one, and did not reply to his Christmas message of greetings,

  whichwasequallyshort,coldandfaultlessinstyle.Shewantedtocometoterms

  with her own grief and shame without anyone's help or consolation but, weak,

  discouraged, young, ignorant and inexperienced, she became more and more

  involved in that inextricable net of real events and great desires, of her own

  thoughtsandhisincomprehensibleandinhumanbehaviour.Hadshebeenableto

  askanyoneortotakeanyone'sadvice,itwouldcertainlyhavebeeneasierforher

  but shame held her back. Even so it often seemed to her that the whole town

  knewaboutherdisappointmentandthatmockingandmaliciousglancesseemed

  toburnintoherasshewalkedthroughthemarketplace.Neithermennorbooks

  gaveheranyexplanation;andsheherselfdidnotknowhowtoexplainanything.

  If he really did not love her why had there been all that comedy of passionate

  wordsandvowsduringthevacationlastyear?Whathadbeenthereasonforthat

  episode on the school bench, which could only be justified and defended by

  love, without which it fell into the mud of unbearable humiliation? Was it

  possiblethatthereweremenwhorespectedthemselvesandotherssolittlethat

  they would enter lightheartedly into such a game? What drove them on if not

  love?Whatdidhisburningglances,hiswarmandhaltingbreath,hispassionate kissesmean?Whatcouldtheymean,ifnotlove?Butitwasnotlove!Shesaw

  thatnow,betterandmoreclearlythanshewouldhaveliked.Butshecouldnot

  resign herself truly and lastingly to such a thought (who has ever been able to

  resignthemselvescompletelytoit?).Thenaturalconclusionofalltheseinternal

  conflictswasthethoughtofdeathwhichalwayslurksonthefrontiersofevery

  dreamofhappiness.Todie,thoughtZorka,toslipfromthe kapia into the river

  asifbychance,withoutlettersorfarewells,withoutadmissionsorhumiliations.

  'Todie'shethoughttoherselfinthelastmomentsbeforegoingtosleepandon

  recovering consciousness in the morning, in the midst of the most lively

  conversations and beneath the mask of every smile. Everything in her said and

  repeatedthosewords—'todie!todie!'—butonedoesnotdie,butliveswiththat

  insupportablethoughtwithinone.

  Comfort came from the source she least of all expected. Some time about the

  Christmas vacation her hidden torment reached its height. Such thoughts and

  such unanswered questions destroy one even more than an illness. Everyone

  noticed changes for the worse in her and worried about her, her relatives, her

  headmaster, a merry man with many children, and her friends, advising her to

  seeadoctor.

  Good luck had it that just at this time were the rehearsals for the St Sava

  festivitiesandthat,aftersomanymonths,sheagaintalkedwithGlasičanin.Up

  till then he had avoided every meeting or conversation with her. But that

  goodwill that usually reigns at these naive but sincere dramatic and musical

  showsinsmallplaces,andthentheclearcoldnightsastheyreturnedhome,saw

  toitthatthesetwoyoungestrangedpersonsshoulddrawclosertooneanother.

  Her need to lessen her torment drove her on and his love, deep and sincere,

  drovehim.

  Their first words were naturally cold, defiant, double-edged, and their

  conversationslongexplanationswithoutissue.Buteventhosebroughtsolaceto

  the girl. For the first time she could talk with a living being about her inner, shamefulwretchednesswithouthavingtoconfessitsmostshamefulandpainful

  details.Glasičanin.spoketoherofitlongandanimatedlybutwithwarmthand

  consideration,savingherpride.Hedidnotexpresshimselfmoreharshlyabout

  Stikovićthanwasinevitable.Hisexplanationwassuchaswehavealreadyheard

  that night on the kapia. It was short, sure and unsparing. Stiković was a born egoistandamonster,amanwhocouldlovenooneandwhoaslongashelived,

  himself tormented and unsatisfied, would torture all those whom he deceived

  andwhowereneartohim.Glasičanindidnotspeakmuchofhisownlove,butit wasevidentineveryword,everyglanceandeverymovement.Thegirllistened

  tohim,remainingsilentforthemostpart.Aftereverysuchconversationshefelt

  moreserene,moreatpeacewithherself.Forthefirsttimeaftersomanymonths

  she had moments of respite from her internal storms and for the first time

  succeededinlookingatherselfasotherthananunworthybeing.Fortheyoung

  man's words, filled with love and respect, showed her that she was not

  irretrievablylostandthatherdespairwasonlyanillusionevenasherdreamof

  lovetheprevioussummerhadbeenonlyanillusion.Theyhadtakenheroutof

  thatgloomyworldinwhichshehadalreadybeguntoloseherselfandsenther

  back to living human reality, where there was healing and aid for everyone, or

  nearlyeveryone.

  TheirtalkscontinuedevenaftertheStSavacelebrations.Thewinterpassedand

  afteritthespring.Theysawoneanotheralmosteveryday.Intimethegirlcame

  to herself, grew stronger and healthier, and was transformed, quickly and

  naturally,asonlyyouthcanbe.Sotoopassedthatfruitfulanduneasysummer.

  PeoplewerealreadyaccustomedtoregardZorkaandGlasičaninasacouplewho

  were'walkingout'.

  ItwastruethatthelongspeechesofGlasičanintowhichshehadatfirstlistened

  avidly,drinkingtheminlikemedicine,werenowlessinteresting.Attimesthis

  need for mutual confession and confidence weighed on her. She asked herself

  withgenuinewonderhowthisclosenessbetweenthemhadcomeabout,butthen

  she remembered that last winter he had 'saved her soul' and, mastering her

  boredom,listenedtohimlikeagooddebtor,ascarefullyasshecould.

  That summer night his hand was over hers (that was the ultimate limit of his

  modestdaring).Throughthatcontactthewarmrichnessof the night penetrated

  him also. In such moments it was fully clear to him how much treasure was

  hidden in this woman and at the same time he felt how the bitterness and

  dissatisfactionofhislifewasbeingtransformedintofruitfulpowersufficientto

  taketwopeopletoeventhemostdistantgoal,ifloveboundthemandsustained

  them.

  Filled with those feelings in the darkness he was no longer the everyday

  Glasičanin,aminorclerkofthegreatVišegradenterprise,butquiteanotherman,

  strong and self-confident, who controlled his own life freely and far-sightedly.

 
Foramanfilledwithagreat,trueandunselfishlove,evenifitbeononeside

  only, there open horizons and possibilities and paths which are closed and

  unknowntosomanyclever,ambitiousandselfishmen.

  Hespoketothewomanbesidehim.

  'IdonotthinkIammistaken;iffornootherreason,thenjustbecauseIshould

  neverbeabletodeceiveyou.Whilesometalkandraveandothersdobusiness

  and make gains, I follow everything and watch everything and I see more and

  moreclearlythatthereisnosortoflifehere.Foralongtimetherewillbeneither

  peace nor order nor profitable work. Not even Stiković, not even Herak, can

  create them. On the other hand, everything will get worse. We must get away

  from here, as from a house that is falling down. These countless and uneasy

  saviours who pop up at every step are the best proof that we are heading for a

  catastrophe.Sincewecannothelp,wecanatleastsaveourselves.'

  Thegirlremainedsilent.

  'Ihaveneverspokentoyouaboutthis,butIhavethoughtoftenandmuch,and

  have even done a little. You know that Bogdan Djurović, my friend from

  Okolište, has now been in America for three years. I have been in

  correspondence with him since last year. I showed you the photograph he sent

  me. He has asked me to come over there and has promised me a safe job at a

  goodwage.Iknowthatitisnotasimplemattertodoallthis,butIdonotthink

  itisimpossible.Ihavethoughteverythingoverandcalculatedeverything.Iwill

  sellthelittlepropertyIhaveupthereatOkolište.Ifyouwillsayyes,wewillget

  married as soon as possible and leave for Zagreb without saying anything to

  anyone. There is a company there which arranges for emigrants to get to

  America.WecouldwaitthereuntilBogdansendsusanaffidavit.Intheinterval

  wecouldlearnEnglish.Ifwearenotsuccessful,perhapsbecauseofmymilitary

  service,thenwewillcrossoverintoSerbiaandleavefromthere.Iwillarrange

  everythingtomakeitaseasyaspossibleforyou.InAmericawewillbothwork.

  ThereareSerbianschoolstherewhereyoucouldteach.Iwouldeasilyfindwork